Forza del Destino
by Venath
Summary: Two thousand years ago, a Devil known as Sparda turned against his master for the sake of humanity. Tales of his kindness and courage became legend, but what lies beyond the stories, myths, and speculations? Sparda Rebellion fic. Eventual Sparda/Eva.
1. Master

Disclaimer: I don't own Devil May Cry, or any other stories, characters, and so on that might make cameos if I happen to feel like it.

AN: Well, here goes my first shot at a DMC fic. Hope you enjoy it. Oh, and given that this is a distant, distant prequel, there will be terms and events regarding the demon world that I'll be expanding on later, some canon and others…not so much. But I'm sure you probably realized that (What with it being…you know…a prequel).

_**Telepathic Communication**_

**Time Passage**

* * *

A pulsing black blade arced through the air, the glowing veins throughout the flesh-like surface leaving an orange blur in its path. A crash echoed through the chambers of the cavernous depths of the underworld, rarely used by any for fear of treading on the toes of its master, as a far smaller black blade stopped the downward strike, albeit with incredible effort. The grey Devil known as Baul winced as he felt his knees beginning to buckle, and wondered where in the name of the Dark Prince his brother had gotten off to. Modeus wouldn't have fled from battle, it simply wasn't in his nature, and especially not when his brother was involved.

The question was answered when the black Devil reappeared behind Sparda in a rush of wind, swinging a dark red blade with a calm precision, in complete opposition of his Baul's own wild and aggressive style. Yet when it came down to it, neither observation and calculation based on logic nor brute force guided by instinct would likely ever be enough to allow them to defeat their master, even when working perfectly in tandem. Modeus' eyes narrowed as his blade was stopped between two of Sparda's fingers, the much older Devil not even bothering to turn and face him. Modeus gathered the energy in his fist and launched it forward at his mentor. Sparda leaned back and kicked out to knock the smaller of the brothers halfway across the clearing, the blast aimed for his head plowing into Baul's blade. The moment of disorientation was more than enough for Sparda to flick his wrist and throw the blade completely from his apprentice's hands, followed by a light knee to the chest that sent Baul a similar distance away.

And the thing that both aggravated and thrilled the brothers; all three of them were well aware of the fact that Sparda was merely playing. The lesser drones and puppets who lacked any true sense of pride or ambition aside—they were merely puppets created so the Elders could claim to have greater numbers in their regions and entertain themselves by sending small "invasion" forces to the mortal world after all—it was humiliating for any Devil to be so easily defeated. Yet at the same time, it was invigorating to know that a warrior so powerful and renowned as Sparda had taken them on as students. In fact, it was nothing less than miraculous as far as they were concerned, given that most would have destroyed or even devoured two orphaned youths without a second thought. Not only had he taken them in, but he'd taught them, trained them, and they'd improved immensely with every session.

"You've been practicing with energy control, Modeus. Impressive." The smirk was visible now. "But still not good enough."

They charged again, and their master weaved through one attack after another effortlessly, almost as though the entire spar bored him. The older Devil didn't even put on a pretense of considering them serious threats. He even restrained himself from using the sharpened edges of his blade, and his magic, and even claws and wings. In their many ages of training with him, they'd still yet to even force him into a position where he needed to use his weapon to deflect their attacks, having demonstrated countless times over that if he felt like it, it was a simple matter to completely disarm them with nothing more than his bare hands.

Not that Sparda was without his reasons, of course. In the underworld, Devils who had lost their creators such as Baul and Modeus rarely lasted into what Devils would consider childhood. While their young weren't particularly threatened by the fodder toys created by the Elders, they were practically helpless in the face of any remotely significant Devil. That two orphans had managed to last well into that period of their lives spoke volumes of the sheer potential that they held, and the one who was often thought of as the right hand of the Prince of Darkness himself wasn't the type to waste an opportunity to train allies with such natural talent. That he was also legendary among his peers for his desire to acquire knowledge only served to reinforce his interest in unusual cases such as their own.

The session was ended as a birdlike Devil swept down into the clearing, landing gracefully in front of their master and giving him a respectful nod. Standing nearly two dozen feet tall despite having just reached maturity a few thousand years previously, Griffon calmly eyed the newly-worn battlefield as Sparda allowed his weapon to dematerialize, the energy of the soul in his infamous Devil Arm collecting into his blackened gauntlet to await his next summons, the same orange glow present on the blade visible on his right wrist.

"Griffon? Does our Lord have need of my services?" The Devil's preening upon hearing his name recognized by a superior was obvious, try though he might to hide it. Though not unfamiliar with the battlefield by any means, it was an honor to be recognized on sight by a superior.

"Yes, General. Lord Mundus requests your presence before the throne immediately." There was no doubt that he would agree. The notion that a "request" from the Lord of the Underworld could ever go ignored was inconceivable. But Griffon _had_ heard stories, tales of how Sparda would often disobey or decline orders from their mutual Lord simply because he didn't feel like it. What a ridiculous rumor. Then again, perhaps being the right hand of Mundus provided for more freedom than his generation had been led to believe.

"Very well." No, of course they were rumors. Even the great Sparda wouldn't deny Mundus, surely. "You have my thanks, Griffon, for the message. I will return to the throne room at once."

The brothers gathered behind Sparda as their comrade took to the skies, and the older warrior could sense their curiosity. Perhaps it was simply because he had been their only true instructor, but even after teaching them to shield their thoughts and emotions he could still read them as if they were of his own blood.

"I'm uncertain." They started at the proclamation, still unused to his talent for knowing their minds. "Our Lord has not informed me of any occurrences of note recently, so perhaps…"

He trailed off for a moment, seemed to enter a world of his own as his hand twitched to the glowing gauntlet, a finger running across it almost affectionately.

"Regardless, I must see to His commands. Continue your training as you normally would. If I do not return, assume that I have been selected for some task or another."

"Yes, Master!"

As he disappeared, teleportation was a technique which the two were quite interested in mastering but for which he claimed they were unprepared, they moved to continue their little spar without him. But even as they took their positions, their minds flickered to the thought of the odd Devil Arm that he carried at all times. Devil Arms in general weren't rare. The underworld was a place of nearly constant strife, so seeing the souls of Devils manifest into weapons and tools after defeat wasn't an unfamiliar sight to anyone. On the other hand, a being willing to actually keep the Devil Arm rather than devouring the soul to increase its own power was quite a rarity. Baul had asked him about it once, but his only response had been that it was called Yamato. He'd volunteered no further information, and they hadn't asked again. If Sparda wished to keep his past to himself, then far be it from their right to press.

An immeasurable distance away, the Dark Knight reappeared in the center of a vast chamber, filled with white pillar and stone. He'd been to the human world only once before, under the guidance of his own master, but from what he understood Mundus had apparently designed his throne room and the adjacent chambers in imitation of some of the human structures that he'd found to be aesthetically pleasing. Strange, but then Mundus had always been somewhat unusual, always seemingly thinking on a different plane than that of his vast assortment of minions. Even many of the Elders were unable to discern his thoughts on numerous occasions.

As he made his way to the throne room, he had to admit that regardless of the oddities of his Lord's mind the mortal design was rather pleasing in its own way. It was never lacking in the ability to soothe him, to allow him to clear his thoughts. The effect was heightened by the ever-present will of their Lord, palpable throughout the entire domain, but no place so much as before his throne; The very throne before which Sparda came to kneel, content in His presence but curious as to the purpose behind summoning him to this place.

"Sparda, apprentice to the Elder Ganesha…I have come to the conclusion that it would be prudent to grant your request to enter the realm of the mortals." Most Devils would likely dart upwards in surprise, but then Sparda wasn't most. The only evidence of change in his appearance was the slight inclination of his head, and an ever-so-brief expansion of the demonic aura surrounding him.

"My Lord?" He had requested permission to travel to the human world once more one or two human generations earlier (The principles of "timekeeping" as the humans understood it had escaped him at the time, and even now were only just barely understandable). While he was quite capable of doing so, as were most Devils, Mundus had still required his presence to subdue the few stragglers remaining from the last war on the throne. The fools were led by a pitiful group of insurgents whom had foolishly believed themselves capable of matching one who had personally witnessed The Fall countless lifetimes before even Sparda had been sired. And though Mundus most certainly didn't need his protection—He was more than capable of dealing with usurpers on his own when they needed to be reminded of why _He_ was their master and no other—Sparda would never leave his Lord if a threat was present.

So he was, to put it quite simply, shocked at this turn of events. With the Elder Abigail gaining power in each passing moment and the being known as Argosax unaccounted for once again, he'd have thought that it would have been at least a few more human centuries, likely even millennia, before one of his status would be presented the opportunity to visit the human world again. He lowered himself to both knees in a deep bow, horns nearly touching the ground in a sign of respect that was reserved solely for Mundus and the Court of the remaining Elders.

"You have my deepest gratitude, My Lord. Is there anything you wish of me in return?" Perhaps there was more to this than he thought. It wasn't unheard of for His enemies to consider the possibility of overtaking the mortal realm. Not only would it gain an unmatched respect from their kind, given that no previous Devil had ever managed such a task, but the sheer number of souls they could potentially reap from the humans was unprecedented. Weak souls, perhaps, but so numerous that they could easily make up the difference.

"You have served me for a great many ages, General. With the last of the true rebellions silenced, I see no reason to dismiss your desire further. There is no question that you have earned some time to yourself. However, once you are satisfied I wish to have a report of the status of the species present in that realm."

So there was another purpose behind it. Gathering reports on the human world could only mean that, with no further opposition, Mundus himself planned to do what his enemies had attempted and failed so many times before: The conquest of the mortal realm.

"It will be done, My Lord."

* * *

AN: Well, there you go. Probably not my greatest work, but overall I'm not really disappointed with it. As per usual, I love to hear from my readers.


	2. Research

Disclaimer: I don't own Devil May Cry, or any other stories, characters, and so on that might make cameos if I happen to feel like it.

AN: This update came much more quickly than most of my updates recently. I'd basically written both of the chapters at the start since I was having a bit of a writing streak, and I figured I might as well put this one out. Then, it's back to work on some of the other stories that I've got but haven't updated. Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter, and thanks to the few who reviewed the last chapter.

_**Telepathic Conversation**_

**Time Passage**

* * *

Reaching the human world wasn't exactly what most would describe as difficult. There were more than a few gates in place, and no human had ever displayed anything resembling the physical strength needed to defeat the guardians of those gates. Even had they the power necessary to do so, no human that he'd ever heard of had the mystical ability to close it. The idea of a human capable of one was laughable, but the thought of one capable of _both_ wasn't even worth considering. And so, with the gates unobstructed, he was at last standing on the unfamiliar terrain of their world once again.

And it was just as exotic as he remembered.

Oh sure, the humans probably didn't consider it quite so impressive, just as he felt the same of his own home. Familiarity often bred boredom, and the variety of greens, browns, blues, yellows, and so many other colors was a welcome change in comparison to the far less impressive scope of reds and whites in his own world. He stepped over a fallen wooden structure. _Trees_ he thought, the name Ganesha had called them by when they last visited the world, if he wasn't mistaken (and he rarely was). He let out a gravelly chuckle, running a clawed finger across the thin green world surrounding him. Trees, mosses, bushes…It was a forest. Yes, he was in a forest, he was certain of it.

Something was burning.

He allowed his senses to spread out, and it wasn't long before he could sense the auras of the lesser Devils that the Prince of Darkness had been permitting into this realm for quite some time. It was nothing of significance to him, and normally he would have left them to their own devices, yet this time there was something else. The auras were weaker, but present in large enough numbers to draw his attention. And they seemed to be disappearing rapidly. Perhaps they were human? Or alternatively, they might have been just another of the mindless species inhabiting the land. Either way, his Lord's toys had a habit of mutilating anything they killed, and there was only so much information one could gain from a ruined corpse. His studies would require something…well not really _living_, but at least in a smaller number of pieces than they typically left.

Unfortunately he was probably going to be too late. Even as he teleported to the general area of the energy signatures, they were dropping at an incredible rate. The smell of smoke earlier supported the idea that there wouldn't be much left worth looking at, and his conclusion was reaffirmed when upon his arrival. The small structures (nests? Possibly, but they were remarkably small for that purpose…) were already ablaze, and the last of the auras beginning to fade. No, that wasn't quite right. There was still one left, probably hidden among the flames. He dashed into the center of the village and the fodder immediately dispersed. They were no better than the animals of this world, really, driven by instinct to flee from greater strength. Pathetic, but fodder was necessary as a display of power through numbers. Several moments were spent flashing through the small structures, but there was little of interest, at least not as fascinating as his true objective: A human corpse in acceptable condition.

And then something struck him from behind. Not painfully—had he not been so focused on the nesting grounds it might have been unnoticed altogether. He turned to face the thing, eyes wandering across its small frame with excitement. It was alive! Oh, it was certainly frail, but its body was so well preserved! Perhaps he could even restrain it, see how it functioned while still alive. It was holding some kind of long wooden object, obviously not designed as a weapon. Then it hit him again, shouting something that he couldn't quite understand. It was angry, that much was clear. Not an unreasonable reaction when one's people had just been butchered. Still, striking him would get it nowhere. As soon as the thought crossed his mind Sparda scolded himself. Even as weak as it was, this thing shouldn't have been able to hit him from behind. He was becoming too lax in his curiosity about this world.

He shook his head and began to focus on his surroundings again, lest he lose himself thoughts and open himself to further embarrassment. He realized that there was another sound nearby. An annoying one. The shrieking was horrible. Truly, Sparda had yet to hear shrieking so loud from anything but some of the tortured souls who dared to oppose his Lord. He turned away from the human. There were plenty of them to examine. For now, he needed to silence that accursed screeching!

And then it hit him again. The humans attempts were amusing at first, but it was getting old fast.

"Stop doing that."

"oaeowgmayrymmfteh!" Such annoying babble, this human language. What did it have to gain by assaulting him further? Did it hope to utilize his soul as its own power? If so, then it was quite a stupid little thing. Many great Devils had tried without rest to do the same, and all had been destroyed or subdued. Still, unintelligent as it may have been, such persistence was commendable. Many battles would have been less aggravating had the fodder been so determined.

"I said put that toy away, human." It couldn't understand him. That much was obvious. But his tone was aggressive, more than enough to make his message clear if the words themselves weren't enough. He reached out and pulled the stick away, flung off into the distance, then turned from the small figure and began listening for the sound again.

"ytowomuwolslinanyadyae!"

He frowned as he felt the thing's small body ram into him, its fragile limbs wrapping around his throat from behind. What was it attempting? To break his neck? A weak effort to dig the puny, useless claws their species was cursed with into his armored flesh? No…Ganesha had once explained that human bodies functioned much like many of the lesser Devils, who required a nourishment of some kind aside from the souls (Or those bizarre substances that humans apparently concocted for ingestion) which functioned as their energy source. Some kind of organ requiring elements of the world's atmosphere that kept their bodies functioning as they were supposed to. He had the organ systems himself, or at least a similar structure given that it apparently played a part in a number of other functions such as the ability to speak audibly, but he'd never really needed it as others sometimes did. In retrospect, perhaps he should have invested more time into examining the behavior in his few free moments. His current knowledge was limited to its more practical uses in battle or conversation.

He gripped one of the limbs with his hand and jerked the small creature forward with a snap, senses focused on the sudden frantic beating of the human's aura that would normally indicate desperation and pain. He held the human in the air for a moment, allowing the feeling to grow, feeding on the energy running throughout the smaller being's body. As the nearly euphoric flood of emotion that it gave off began to settle, he looked curiously at the limb that was now twisted, likely the cause of the sudden wailing from the fleshy animal. He gave an experimental twist, and the wailing increased. It would seem that they did have a sense of pain similar to that of Devils, though this one's level of tolerance left something to be desired. Ah, that might explain its determination; it was small and weak, and wished to prove itself.

The wailing was getting worse. He wrapped the claws of his free hand around the thing's throat and squeezed slightly, barely enough force to even agitate his apprentices, and the opening was crushed. He allowed it to drop to the ground, glancing over the rumpled body in confusion. Were these creatures truly so fragile? He'd hoped to learn a few more details from this one, but it would seem that this was no longer an option. Oh well. At the very least he'd discovered that, much like many of the Devil's he'd battled, if that particular section of their bodies were to be crushed then they would cease to be. He glanced down at the liquid covering his hand, an unfamiliar red color, but probably their equivalent of blood. He brought the digits to his face, flicked his tongue across the surface to analyze the strange substance. There was little he could gather from the sample, not without others to compare it against, so he gave a careless shrug and turned back to the corpse. No use complaining about what was past.

Then, of course, there was the soul. The wisps of ethereal white, purple, and blue energy began drifting upwards from its body, circling into a small orb and hovering in the air. He held out his right arm, and the energy was drawn into the glowing gauntlet where Yamato resided. Probably a minimal increase in power, but it was useful all the same. Even if human souls wouldn't be as effective as Devil souls, even the smallest boost helped.

Now, to find that damnable screeching! The sound wasn't exactly hard to follow to its source. He'd heard agonized, tortured Devils that were less grating. But that source…It was coming from one of the few structures not overrun with flame. A few moments of searching led him to an odd sight in the small human structure, a miniscule bundle curled in some kind of odd contraption on the floor where it seemed to be resting. But what was it? He wasn't aware that such small creatures even existed, much less that they could make such an insufferable sound. The cage (Surely this was a cage, meant to hold these bizarre little monsters) had contained many other items, some that had been lying on the ground and others that he'd seen the humans holding as they attempted to flee or battle their attackers. Another thought struck him, and for the first time in a great many ages he almost lost his footing: Was it a nest?

Was…was this a human? Was this one of the offspring of their race? He reached out, nudging it with the dull topside of one claw, only to leap back as if seared by the flames which raged outside as its cries doubled.

It couldn't be. It wasn't possible. There were no traps, wards, or spells protecting it. Its skin was even thinner than the one that had attacked him, its claws likely unable to scratch the flesh of even its own species, and no fangs were visible in its tiny mouth. Its pitiful howls seemed to be its only form of defense, and all those served to do was draw further attention. No, this couldn't be a human nestling. No species so utterly indefensible could hope to survive for as long as their kind had. It must have been some kind of pet.

Curious.

He reached out again, this time prepared for the incredible screeching when he poked at one of its digits, an act performed with more softness than he'd imagined it was possible for him to manage. Thankfully, his curious test subject wasn't harmed severely, the small cut on its finger barely severe enough to draw blood. Of course, its cries implied otherwise, but he doubted that even a creature as ridiculously delicate as this would be unable to recover from a wound so insignificant. His tongue flicked across the claw, the small drop of blood more than sufficient for his cause.

And for the first time in ages, his body once again reacted in a manner he couldn't have predicted; He stumbled away in shock. It was human. This…thing…was how their race—something even older than many of his peers, possibly even than himself—began their existence. He'd assumed it was different, that the blood would disprove the impossible notions, but…no.

It.

Just.

Wasn't.

Possible.

Even more strange was the familiarity of the taste. He'd tasted this before. Blood held a certain feeling; a certain energy to it. Devils could identify their kin by blood, their allies, their enemies, their mates. In fact, it was a major defense mechanism of the young, the ability to recognize what was likely the safest figure in their lives when they were unable to protect themselves. From what he understood, almost all humans were related, albeit in most cases by an incredible distance. But this…this was close enough to what he'd tasted before to be within two, perhaps three generations. This was a descendant of the very being he'd crushed the life out of when it had attacked him.

The very implication was baffling. It had been attacking him to protect this useless bundle of flesh.

The tiny thing must have been important. There was no other explanation. It was some kind of heir, or some form of mystical tool that he simply hadn't recognized due to a lack of focus, or something more important than just a child. The only other option was that – no, the other option was inconceivable. No creature would give its existence away for something so meaningless. Blood simply didn't do that. You protected it until it could fend for its own, and then it was left to do so, and if it was strong it would one day consume you. Perhaps if you were particularly close, you would serve it as a Devil Arm. If it could not survive on its own, then it didn't deserve the life it was gifted with. Weakness was the way of death, and strength the way of life. He'd seen countless Devils even butcher and devour their own offspring when they were obviously going to fail to reach maturity.

This merited further investigation. He allowed some of his energy to flow over the small creature, patching the wound in an instant.

There were other living entities nearby, non-demonic entities. He could sense their auras from here, and they were untainted by pain or fear. This was a small human settlement, unless their species had dwindled to such a small number (Though that would explain some things), so perhaps they too were related to this unusual nestling. Regardless, he would need a disguise. It would be impossible to observe them as they were in nature if his true identity remained so obvious.

He recalled the memory of his attacker, and began to shift his appearance. He'd only had minimal visible hair, a light shade of grayish-white in color. He'd been several feet shorter than himself. And certainly he'd been less muscular. Of course, it wouldn't do to make his appearance identical to the human. If they were relations, and if by some miraculous accident of nature they did care for their offspring until adulthood, then he might be recognized and unable to explain himself. A few modifications were in order.

His hair shifted to a shade more silver than grey, the structure of his face repositioning. His skin lightened slightly, his eyes taking more of an amber hue, his height increased by several inches, roughly two to three heads taller than the one he'd crushed, still several less than his natural height. His muscular structure was more fleshed out, more suited for what he imagined a human warrior would look like. It would certainly be enough to convince any of those familiar with his kill that they weren't one in the same. The one he'd fought was surely just into maturity…But no, that wouldn't fit. If it was truly more than one generation than this one, it would have been an elder in their lifespans. Yes, that must have been it. Ganesha had once told him that humans didn't grow as Devils did, that they became strong, and weak, and strong, and weak again at different points in their lives. Far from the lives of Devils which consisted of a constant state of increasing strength until their ends arrived.

The clothing was less complicated. Not the rags that his kill and many of the others had been wearing, but nothing exceptional. A momentary examination of the village, performed in a matter of seconds, provided him with a few scant artistic attempts, though they seemed more conceptual than practical, most probably designed as a result of attempting to find a better method of fending off Devils. Still, the ideas seemed sound. A light chestpiece of some kind (Or light in comparison to his own natural armor, at least), guards for the shoulders and legs, a few dark pieces of cloth beneath the armored segments. The crude images looked old, so they may have already been implemented by now. All that remained was to make sure to adjust it so that they appeared somewhat worn, giving off the image of having left a battle recently.

But the weapon…the weapon he was less certain of. He summoned Yamato, running his eyes over the glowing Devil Arm. They wouldn't likely believe that he'd walked away from a Devil attack with nothing more than his own body as a weapon. Even most Devils required some form of tools to fight their opponents, and he himself preferred a blade whenever possible. But he'd seen nothing that appeared to be a tool of combat during his examination of the village. Yes, he'd seen the humans carrying strange objects to attack, but they quite clearly lacked the flow of a device designed for such purposes (Quite brave, these humans, to go into battle with so little aside from tooth and claw). No, they were most likely just using whatever had been near to combat their attackers. It was a simple and basic rule understood by all: While never in an honorable and recognized duel, on the battlefield anything that _could_ be used as a weapon _should_ be used exactly for that purpose.

At least they had learned something properly in their time spent in this world. And what in the name of Lord Mundus was the nestling doing now? The cries were gone, and for a few brief moments he'd been blessed with precious silence. Now it was making noises again. Why did it make so many noises? At least these weren't as aggravating. He wandered over to it, watched the squirming movements. And so he stood completely still, watching it as its eyes were directed off to his side, apparently focused on something other than the unimaginably powerful force standing in front of it. Focused on…Yamato? He flipped it so that the bladed edge was faced away from the nestling, lowering his trusted comrade within a few inches of the tiny body. He almost felt the urge to laugh at the absurdity of everything in this world as the nestling reached out and began patting the pulsating weapon with curiosity, making strange (But most certainly pleased) sounds at the strange texture of the blade.

And so the greatest warrior of Mundus held his infamous blade out to a human nestling, amusing himself with its antics until it seemed to drift off into slumber. And so easily tired as well…Their kind truly were fascinating, if somewhat confounding and more than pleased to spit in the face of all that he'd learned of logic and reasoning during his not inconsiderable lifetime. No wonder Ganesha had enjoyed studying them so. But now…now he needed to find a human weapon to imitate. Yamato took on a blue glow, the entire blade bathed in light as it sensed his thoughts now that it was once again active, though not in use, and when it faded a new weapon was before him.

No doubt this was the work of his Devil Arm. He'd almost forgotten that Yamato had been nearly as obsessed with learning as him, and had attempted to gather as much knowledge of the human realm as possible from lesser Devils that had been allowed to roam the world while they were crushing Mundus' enemies. It was fairly safe to assume that this design was inspired by a weapon that their inferiors had brought back, probably thinking them some kind of prizes or toys. His long time partner was being oddly silent on the matter, a habit that had always irked the younger Devil, so his chances of getting an answer on why he chose this particular form were phenomenally low.

Regardless, as he pulled it from the scabbard he was forced to admit that it wasn't a displeasing form. The blade was several feet long, sharpened on only one side, with a slight curve to it. The hilt was strangely ornate for something that Yamato chose, his usual preferences having always been simple and practical. Its hilt was a deep shade of green with white wrappings, both its pommel and guard a deep black and gold, and both with a serpent-like Devil etched into their bases. Even the flawless ebony scabbard was decorated with golden symbols at its tip. The only non-decorative portion of the weapon was the blade itself, though he didn't bother to question it. If Yamato believed it would be suitable, then he would trust in that decision. He'd yet to fail his wielder so far, and there would be no point in ignoring the long-developed trust after so long.

With his appearance under control, he sheathed Yamato and attached the scabbard to his waist and turned to the still sleeping nestling. He fumbled for a few moments as he attempted to figure out how to properly carry it without breaking something, before settling on resting it on a folded arm, head nuzzled against his left bicep. Thankfully, it only made a quick, muted sound as it exhaled, not deeming the activity enough to rouse it fully from its slumber. Thank the sweet, merciful heavens. He wasn't certain that he'd be able to listen to its wails again at all, much less while holding the thing. _Perhaps I __**am**__ underestimating its uses._ He chuckled to himself at the thought.

And with a rustling of the dust he was gone, teleporting to a forested area near the auras that he'd sensed before. When he finally came upon the dwelling, he realized that it was even smaller than those in the settlement. Not for the first time he wondered how these creatures could tolerate being so confined, so restricted to these cramped spaces for so long. It would have driven him made, were he in such a prison. The owners weren't visible, but he could hear them with ease as he approached, speaking in hushed tones with their childish foreign babble.

He paused at the entrance, trying to recall if he'd ever heard mention of some kind of ritual. He'd encountered many demons which had no qualms with people entering their territories without warning, while just as many had set up countless traps for those who didn't properly announce themselves. He settled for rapping his fist lightly against the wall near the entrance, and wincing when it cracked slightly. Hopefully they weren't the most astute members of their kind. In moments, one of the three he sensed appeared, pulling back the covering of the opening. The…male? Yes, the male looked at him. At least, it seemed to be built as a male, certainly it was more physically impressive than the one he'd killed had been, and it lacked any apparent feminine reproductive organs. But then, he was hardly expert enough on the human body to be certain of that distinction.

It looked at him with confusion and no too little suspicion, before a smaller figure peered around his shoulder. Sparda decided that this one must have been female. Its frame was far different than the one he'd seen earlier or the one who had answered and it seemed somehow more delicate, more refined. It…she…gasped as she saw the bundle in his arms, not to mention the small stain of blood left over from his little examination, and took it into her arms. She spoke briefly to the male in the alien language, and then turned to him, the question in her next words obvious from her tone.

This…wasn't good.

He couldn't speak. He had no idea how their language worked. The few desperate cries from the one he'd killed before was all he had to work with, and that wouldn't be enough to get him through a confrontation by any means. But he was nothing if not a quick thinker. The humans required their throats to breathe, had the same basic internal structure that he himself required for speech, so _they_ most probably required them for speaking as well. A quick shift beneath the coverings on his neck, and he was ready. He pulled it down slightly, showing the obviously scarred flesh across the front of his neck, and shook his head, hoping that it meant a negative just as it did among his own kind.

It seemed to work. They gave him a pitying glance, and stepped aside as if to beckon him into their nest. He would be a fool not to agree. This behavior was unprecedented among his own people, and Elders be damned if he wasn't going to try to figure it out.

Yes, he had the distinct feeling that being in this world was going to be quite an enlightening experience.

* * *

AN: There's number two. Hope y'all enjoyed it. Next time, more of Sparda's curiosity and we get to see a few things from a human perspective (For those who don't like the gibberish, that means that we're actually going to see some understandable dialogue).


End file.
